Miso Soup
by O f f beat
Summary: An obtuse Kouji with a cold. A concerned Izumi with a short temper. And, of course, the all too innocent miso soup. [One-shot Kouzumi]


**A/n**: By popular demand, a new Kouzumi one-shot!

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**Miso Soup  
**One-shot Kouzumi

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His hands made a feeble attempt to look for the box of tissues, but missed a considerable amount and instead lost his balance and fell over the edge of the bed. Tangled in his own jungle of blankets, his step-mother dashed into his room, obviously hearing the thump of the fall from downstairs.

"Kouji, honey, are you okay!" she gushed, gently reaching to help him. He slapped her hand away tiredly, and nodded, before slipping back into his bed.

A wave of hurt surfaced the woman's face before disappearing behind a mask of worry. She smiled at him meekly before speaking, "Call if you need anything, alright?"

When he didn't reply nor make any gesture that he had heard her request in return, his step-mother sighed, quietly stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

Did he really hurt her _that _much?

It wasn't that he hated her as much as he showed, but there were times where he just simply didn't want her around. And that was the way he wanted it. If she _just_ understood that, _maybe_ he wouldn't have been to be so cold to her like most of the time. But there was _no_ reasoning with women.

Much too little light cascaded its way through the gap of his curtains. His room, painted in a very dull navy, did little to brighten his already sour mood. Not only had he missed a week of school (not that it mattered, as he was an excellent student, smarter than most of his teachers if not. Why he just didn't decide to finish high school right there and then, he didn't know. Maybe he wanted to be with his _friends_. Kouji snorted feverishly at this.), but his cold was beginning to grow worse with every passing day.

His body ached, muscles groaning in movements. His throat produced a rasping voice, cracked and tortured. His head felt like a pair of constantly banged drums that did no cease in pounding. And what was most horrifying was his stuffy nose that ran like an endless river one minute, then like a clogged sewer pipe the next.

He glared at the empty box of tissues.

Kouji had used a total of five tissue boxes already, and it wasn't even past noon yet.

A new record, really.

He closed his eyes slowly, thinking that maybe a little sleep could do him well, when instantly a small face peered into mind. Large azure eyes. A slender figure, wind running through her golden locks—when in fact _he_ wanted his hand flowing in a tangle with those locks. And that _he_ wanted to feel the burn of her flesh against his. And that _he_ wanted to know really how those lips tasted like.

What began as a denied friendship became and grew into something that got his blood dancing in his veins. They were friends—real good friends, in fact—and a part of him was content with just that.

The other on the other hand...

The other part of him was beginning to cause problems because now all he saw when he slept at night was _her_.

It wasn't that he didn't think about her often. Damn, he thought about her a_ lot_.

Something panged severely in his chest. He let out a disgusted groan before snapping his eyes open. He rubbed his face in annoyance vigorously, wishing, beyond anything, to be alone; to get her out of his head.

His anger momentarily subsided when he jolted at the sound of a knock. His brows fell frustratingly, letting out a deep growl as an acceptance at the visitor's question of entrance.

The door slowly opened, his face falling just as quickly. Standing there curiously, covered in winter accessories was both his happiness and despise.

Izumi.

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"How are you feeling?" she asked, concern heavy of her smile. She bent forward, letting a small palm rest on his forehead. Cool skin clashed with warm, sending a shiver giggling down his spine.

Kouji mouthed a single statement, not wanted to plunder her with his hoarse voice. _Like hell._

She grinned at his sentence, walking over to the window and taking hold of the curtains. "It's so dark in here. No wonder you're always so grumpy in the morning." She tugged the drapes away, a flash of bright light blinding the room temporarily.

He blinked his eyes, adjusting to the new shade of his room and peeked out the window for a small glance. His eyes slightly widened in surprise. Everything was covered with a _very_ thick layer of white slushy snow. When did it _that_ happen?

Feeling movement, his eyes fell back on Izumi who began shuffling through a bag, pulling out a number of things (a pair of extra mittens she lightheartedly put back, some books—from school no doubt—she neatly dropped onto his desk, and what looked like a bunny covered thermos she clutched in her hands).

Their gazes locked, and she beamed again, turning the thermos open. Instant steam rose in the air.

His nose twitched. The smell filled his nostrils and his eyes unconsciously lit up.

Miso soup. He _loved_ miso soup.

She extended the thermos towards him. He reached for her outstretched offer, subconsciously brushing against her fingers and wrapping his own around the bunny covered thermos. He felt an altogether familiar spark run along with his blood and by the surprised expression that suddenly showered her face, he knew she felt it too.

He pulled away, breaking the stare and looking down at the swirling mist that tickled his jaw line, mouthing words of gratitude. _Thank you_.

She nodded welcomingly. "It was no problem." And then looking at her lap, fiddling with her fingers, she added soberly, "Just hurry up and get better, will you? Everyone at school is worried."

Suddenly, he was curious. And even as a part of him nagged to let it go, the other loud counter part _really _wanted to know.

"What about you?" he spoke for the first time that day, voice anything but smooth and collected. He inwardly flinched, but she didn't seem to notice the flaw of his voice. Just the words that came of it.

Izumi blinked innocently before speaking airily. "What?"

"Were _you_ worried about me?" He didn't falter in his stare. She gawked with dumbfound, as if unable to comprehend what he was asking, for a minute before straightening and looking haughtily right back. Leaning in close to him, face to face, her eyes tinkled with a predatory glint.

"I _walked_ all the way from _my_ house in _three_ feet deep _snow_. What do you think, Minamoto?" she challenged him, speaking like it was the obvious.

Because it _was_. And Kouji was just being obtuse.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her for awhile, considering something.

He had harbored feelings for the girl for a _long _time, hiding it from exposure, fear for what might have been rejection. That and expressing his emotions just _wasn't_ his thing. So, it was natural what he did next. Especially having her _so_ close. _So_ determined. And just _so_ damn _her_.

On an impulse, he swayed forward, crushing her lips over with his.

It took him not a second later to realize what he _exactly_ had done. In spite all he believed in, he let his feelings get the better of him. And what was _worse_ was that he was _sick _to the very deep core of his being! And knowing that the mouth was one of the most germ infected places on a body, what possessed him to _kiss_ her, he didn't know.

But _hell_, it was a nice. Soft, light lips, cool and moist.

Reality snapped at him, and he hastily pulled back, blushing furiously (not that it was possible to see; his cheeks were originally flushed to begin with due to the cold), heart ramming against his ribcage.

She stared equally flustered, retreating back into a chair, avoiding his heavy gaze, opening and closing her mouth as if trying to say something.

He sunk deeper into the bed, miso soup still in hand. The pits of his stomach fell into a deep depression. She must have hated it . . .

That was when a knock at door startled them both enough to jump. Slowly, the door open, and Mrs. Minamoto's head popped out cheerfully, brows wrinkling at the tension of the air.

"Izumi, dear, will you be staying for lunch?"

She bit her lip for a minute, before shaking her head quickly. "N-no thank you. I have to get going anyway." Hurriedly she stood up, collecting her discarded items, and nearly bolted for the door, not without turning and weakly smiling at Kouji.

"Get well soon, Kouji."

He opened his mouth, and instantly shut up. For once, he didn't know what to say.

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Her conscious decided not to retreat that night.

And so she was forced to stare dully at the wall and ceiling. When she eventually _did_ fall asleep, her mind plagued her with repeated views of what happened that day in the form of cloudy dreams. Miso soup, three feet snow, and Kouji.

Every so elusive, cold Kouji and their fleeting kiss in bright, intoxicating colors.

So either way, she didn't get much rest.

Waking up in the morning felt like a drag. Grumbling nonsense to herself, she reached to slam the alarm clock off, when in fact her fingers brushed along something quite different.

Peeping through her tangled locks and blanket, her eyes fell on a bunny decorated thermos.

The same _exact_ one she gave to Kouji.

Sitting up, she grasped it, opening it cautiously before looking in.

And she found a letter.

_Thank you. And I'm sorry. _

_P.S- If you do get sick, I won't hesitate to walk all the way to you from my house even if the world decided to blow up. _

Scrawled on the corner of the little paper was a heart and Izumi, suddenly rejuvenated, beamed with content.

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**The End?

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**A/n: **One-shots truly _never _end, so it only makes sense to end it with a question mark. There's a good chance I'll probably even end up writing a sequel for _this_. Huzzah. XD

The mouth _is _a very germ infected place on your body. It's a true fact I learned from my social studies teacher (which is odd . . .). And I found it funny.

Fluff is good for the soul. Review!


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